Will You Be There?
by Plumcot
Summary: To the rest of the world, Canada and America are a package deal. They're the "North American Brothers"; inseparable to the end. But it hasn't always been that way. This is the story of how their relationship was built; and the many reasons why that border remains undefended.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Short first chapter is short. orz This is my first series in a while, and I'm kinda scared 'cause I don't actually have the whole thing written up beforehand, but I really wanted to write some brotherly north American fluff, so... here you go. XD I'm hoping the chapters will get longer, but it depends on how soon I'm able to settle into the story. This should be fairly short, maybe five or six chapters... so... yeah. Here you go. And please remember to review! It makes my day! :3**

**Oh, and as an aside, the title is also the title of a song I like that makes me think of the North American Bros every time I hear it. :3 Check it out, it's really pretty! You know the drill, remove the spaces; www. youtube watch?v= UlpBpyv7n9A **

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><p>England and France were fighting.<p>

Again.

From what America had heard, that was nothing new. But it was still stressful, seeing his father come home with new bruises and bandages, tired and hungry and without the energy to do much more than have a cup of tea and go straight to sleep. It struck America as odd that he always seemed to have the time for tea, but never to undress himself before flopping exhausted onto the bed. "Priorities, Alfred." England told him when he asked. "Priorities."

Which is why America was surprised when, one day, England burst in the door with a grin on his face, and immediately scooped his little colony up and began twirling him around.

"Fastew daddy, fastew!" America giggled, loving the feeling of whooshing through the air. Almost like being a bird. Soon enough, though, England fell to the floor, America tumbling down with him.

"Ohhh, that was a bad, bad idea." England said, laughing as he clutched his dizzy head.

America climbed into England's lap, still giggling and slightly dizzy himself. "Why awe you so happy?" He asked.

England smiled down at America. "Why, I'm glad you asked, my boy! You'll never guess!"

"Did you win?" America immediately assumed.

"Er, well, no, nothing quite as monumental as that."

"Did you win a wittle bit?"

England chuckled. "In a way, yes. Alfred, you're going to have a brother!"

America blinked. "A… bwothew?"

"…Alfred, you _do _know what a brother is, correct?"

America puffed out his cheeks and frowned. "Of couwse I know what a bwothew is! But how did you get one?"

England grinned. "I took him from that bas- er, I mean, I got him from France!"

"France gave you a bwothew?"

"Well, um… not so much _gave… _but that's not the point! You're going to have a little brother, Alfred! A playmate! A friend!"

America stopped to consider this. And the more he did, the more a little brother started to sound like the most amazing thing in the world. After all, he had England to play with, of course; and the Brit would always try his best to indulge him in a game of soldiers or hide-and-seek when he could, but… the times when he _could _only amounted to so many. He was always out fighting, or on business, and America got lonely in their big house. He'd tried to play with some of the human children in the town, but… after a while they always went away. Forever.

But if he had a little brother… surely this little brother would be like them, right? A nation? If he was, then he would never go away! He could stay with America, and they would play together and have adventures and maybe, between the two of them, they might even be able to reach the cookie jar on the top shelf of the cupboard!

"Awesome!" America exclaimed, diving into his father's arms. "When awe you bwinging him home?"

"Soon, my boy; soon." England said, hugging his colony. "Just be patient."


	2. Chapter 2

America sat on the couch, kicking his legs repeatedly against the side.

He set up all his toy soldiers and then shambled through them, pretending to be a giant monster.

He even took a tenth stab at reaching the cookie jar. It proved unfruitful.

Anything to pass the time until England brought his brother home.

Ever since England had told him he'd be getting a brother, it had been all he could think about. He had lain in bed daydreaming that night, imagining all the fun they could have together. So now that England was finally bringing home this new playmate, America felt like this was the longest time he'd ever had to wait in his life. Like a boy waiting for his father to bring home a puppy, he twitched and fidgeted, he twiddled his thumbs, he turned cartwheels until he was in danger of knocking down most of England's fine china.

And finally, _finally, _as it was getting dark and America was trying to do a handstand on the sofa, he was interrupted by the sound of the front door creaking open.

"Alfred! I'm home! And guess who I brought!"

America grinned, flopping back down onto the couch and then rolling onto the floor, before popping up like a jack-in-the box and making a beeline for the foyer. "Awtie Awtie Awtie!" He chanted as he flew through the halls. Soon enough he saw his guardian, standing in the foyer. But… there was no one else there.

"Whewes my bwothew?" America asked, tilting his head to the side. This couldn't be right… he said he'd brought his brother with him, hadn't he? Unless he was just teasing him…

"He's right here." England reassured him. "Alfred, meet Canada. He's a little shy, so try not to overwhelm him." With that, he stepped to the side, revealing a small, blonde boy about America's size. The differences being that his hair was much longer, reaching almost to his shoulders; his eyes, a striking forget-me-not violet, were ringed with the shining red of someone who had just been crying, and... he seemed to be trailing a bear behind him.

America grinned, and ran up to the child. "Hi!" He said, not noticing the boy flinch when he spoke. "I'm Amewica, but you can call me Alfwed! What's youw name? Whewe awe you fwom? Why do you have a beaw? What-"

"Alfred!" England interrupted.

"Huh?"

"Didn't I tell you not to overwhelm him?"

"I'm not ovew- ovah- that! I'm not doing that! I'm just asking him stuff!"

"Yes, erm, that's another thing, Alfred…"

At that moment, they both heard a small sound, almost like a mouse clearing its throat. "Uh-um…" The boy said. "J-je suis désolé, je ne comprends pas…"

America blinked. "What the hell did you just say?"

"Watch your tongue, Alfred!" England chastised.

"But what-"

"That was French. Matthew here doesn't speak English yet, so I'm afraid you're going to have to work with a language barrier for a while."

America pouted. "Awww, but that's no fun! Why'd you get me a bwothew who doesn't even speak Engwish?"

"Now Alfred, I am going to be very clear. Matthew is your brother now. And you are going to treat him with the same kindness you would treat any family member; with the same kindness you would treat me. He will learn English eventually, I assure you, but in the meantime I expect you to be courteous, and understanding. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Awtie…"

"Now then, come along." England said, addressing both boys. "It's almost bed time."

America shuffled along beside Canada, frowning at the way the boy kept his head down, his arms wrapped tightly around his sides. This was not the fun, rambunctious playmate he'd had in mind. And that bear… that weird little white bear was walking with him, keeping step perfectly with the little boy. America had met bears before, but never a white one. Maybe America could ask about him if he tried using pictures? He had some things he could draw with in his bed… room.

Wait.

"Awtie, Awtie!" America said, running up to his father and tugging on his pant leg as he walked.

"Gack- Alfred! Stop that, you're going to make me trip!"

"But Awwwtiiiie, I gotta ask you somethin'!"

"What is it?"

"Whewe's he gonna sleep?"

"Well…" England said as they started up the stairs toward the bedrooms. "We're going to get another bed soon. But I'm sorry, Alfred, this was so short notice… you're going to have to share one until the new one comes in."

"But I don't waaaannaaaaa!" America whined as they stepped into his – their – room. "I don't wanna shawe a bed with him, he's weiwd!"

England stopped in his tracks. He turned to Canada and told him, in French, to wait outside the bedroom door. He then grabbed America by the hand and led him firmly into the bedroom, and leaned down so that he was at eye level with the boy.

"Now you listen here young man." He said. "What did I just say about being courteous and understanding?"

"But-"

"No buts!" England sighed, rubbing his temples. "Listen to me, Alfred. How would you feel if you were taken from me and dropped in a place where you didn't know anyone, and couldn't understand what anyone was saying?"

America shuffled his feet, looking down at the ground. "Scawed…"

"That's right. And how do you think Matthew feels?"

"Scawed."

"And how are you going to treat him from now on?"

"With… with… nice."

"I was looking for 'with kindness', but I'll take that too." England straightened up, and began walking back toward the door. "Just… just try, okay? For me?"

America nodded his assent, just as the door was opened to reveal Canada standing there, waiting just as he'd been told.

"Come along, then." England said to Canada, taking him by the hand and leading him into the room. "Time for bed."

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><p>Soon enough, both boys were in their nightgowns and under the covers. A little too close for comfort, in America's opinion. Though… it <em>was<em> nice and warm, having someone else in bed with him. And it _was_ a bit of a plus having that bear at the end of the bed, keeping their feet nice and toasty.

England smiled at them, candle in hand, and leaned over to kiss them both on the forehead. It felt… weird watching him kiss someone else. It almost felt like if he divided his kisses between the two of them, there wouldn't be enough left for America.

"Goodnight, my boys." England said, before walking out of the room, taking the candle with him and leaving the boys in the dark.

The night was long. America tossed and turned, as always, trying to find a comfortable position to lay in. Canada stayed perfectly still, but not because he was asleep; America could tell he was awake by the way he flinched every time he got too close to his side of the bed.

But eventually, America managed to drift off. He faded slowly into his dreamworld, where he was the hero and everything was awesome and fun and always had a happy ending. Most of the time, anyway. And he would have happily stayed there until morning, had he not been woken abruptly in the middle of the night by the most ungodly sound.

America jolted up in his bed, to find Canada, sitting straight up with his eyes still closed, screaming in his sleep.

"Papa!" He cried, tears coming to his unconscious eyes. "P-papa! Non, non non non non... p-papa!"

America stared for a second, terrified. What was he supposed to do? He'd never seen something like this before, he didn't know-

That's when he noticed something. The bear at the foot of the bed had woken up, and it walked over to Canada and began nuzzling up against him, licking at his cheek in an effort to calm him down. And... and saying something in French. The bear could talk? Whatever it was, it sounded soft; reassuring.

Kindness. That was what Canada needed.

America leaned over and put his arms around his brother, hugging him close. "It's gonna be okay." He whispered, for lack of anything more specific. "Evewything's gonna be okay."

Gradually, the screams died down into soft sniffles, and Canada began to relax against him. And then there was a sudden jolt, and the northern nation froze with the stiffness of someone who had just woken up in a place they hadn't expected.

Neither boy spoke. Neither one acknowledged the position they were in, nor what had led to it. But as the minutes wore on, they both relaxed, and sank down until they were lying on the bed together, fast asleep in each other's arms.

And neither of them noticed England, who, after hearing Canada in distress and rushing to their room to see what was the matter, had opened the door only to find his first son seemingly taking care of the situation himself. He smiled and edged the door close, making certain he didn't alert them to his presence and startle them.

It seemed his little speech had had some impact.


	3. Omake: Consonant Trouble

**Author's Note: This is a very special omake. Mostly because, despite not having much relevance to the main plot, the next chapter will be a lot more fun if you read this first. So do enjoy. :)**

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><p>England sat on the floor in front of America, folding his hands and looking the colony in the eyes. This had gone on long enough. In the beginning, it had been cute, but after a while England had begun to worry that it could grow permanent if left unchecked. It was time to take action.<p>

"A-am I in twouble?" America asked with big eyes.

"No, no, not all all. " England reassured him. America let out a breath of relief. "No, you're not in trouble." England continued. "But there _is_ something I'd like to talk to you about."

"What's that?" America tilted his head.

"Alfred, try saying "rain"."

"Wain."

"Now, see? Did you hear the difference?"

America thought this over for a second. "No… we both just said wain."

"No, see, that's what I'm talking about. It's not 'wain', it's '_rain.' _With an 'r', see?"

"…I see?" He didn't.

"Splendid. Now then, try to say it exactly as I say it. _Rr."_

"Awe?"

"No, Alfred, _Rr. _Move your tongue way back in your mouth, like this._" _He opened his mouth wide and pointed into his own mouth, hoping Alfred would get the gist. "Now try again; _Rr."_

"Awe.

"Rr."

"Awe."

"_Rr."_

"Awe.

_"__Rr!"_

_ "__Awe!_

"_Awe- _gah, now you've got me saying it!"

America climbed up onto England's lap, looking up at the Brit's red face. "Awtuw? Awe you okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine…" England sighed. There was a brief moment of silence as he pondered how to get the idea across to the little nation. "Aha! I've got it!'

"Got what?"

"Let's try making it fun, shall we?" England said, sure this new idea would work. After all, what child could resist a tongue twister? "Now, repeat after me; round and round the rugged rocks the ragged rascal ran."

America hesitated for a moment, thinking over the phrase in his head.

He opened his mouth.

"Wound and wound the wugged wocks-"

"Oh for the love of-"

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><p><strong>Author's note: For the record, guys I know a lot of you anglophiles are gonna be all "But he's British, he doesn't pronounce Rs like we do!" And you're right; for the most part. But Rs at the beginning of a word (like rain, for instance,) are still pronounced with the same amount of emphasis, and that's what England is focusing on, because that's where it's most noticeable. <strong>


	4. Chapter 3

When he thought about it, it was almost like living underwater.

Canada could see everything. He could interact physically with everyone. But every time someone spoke, all he could hear was a garble of syllables that meant nothing to him. Sometimes a few stood out; "yes" and "no" were easy enough to understand. And the word "timid"* kept popping up when he was out of earshot. That, unfortunately, was something he could more or less glean the meaning of. But besides that, no information got in or out.

It seemed a little unfair to him. After all, he knew from experience that… England? Arthur? He still wasn't sure what to call him. Either way, he obviously knew French, though he had an atrocious accent. He didn't have to put the little colony through this. Didn't have to subject him to this horrible, underwater world just so that he would eventually be forced to learn his vulgar language.

To be honest, Canada didn't really know what "vulgar" meant, but his papa had used it together with "English" so many times that they just seemed to go together.

Even without the language barrier, lately he had begun to feel… not quite there. Like he was just a passive observer, watching as things happened to him one after another that he had no control over. Like a piece of driftwood being washed away on the tide, further and further away from his home until he didn't know which way would take him back, didn't even strictly know which way was up.

But there was one constant. One landmark, one lighthouse that it seemed he could always orient himself to, no matter how dark or cloudy it got. And that was America.

At first, the other colony had seemed loud and intimidating. It seemed as if he filled up more space than he should be allowed to occupy, his presence radiating out and suffocating Canada, making him feel like he should have to bend over to accommodate him, stand in corners, make himself small, anything to give the great America room.

But after that first night, everything changed.

It was awkward, that was for sure. Canada had lain stiff in the bed, nearly falling off the side in a half-conscious effort to make sure he wasn't intruding on America's space. No matter how hard he tried, though, it seemed that America was a restless sleeper, because he kept bumping into Canada just as he was dozing off. Even despite this, he eventually managed to fall asleep.

He soon wished he hadn't.

All too soon, Canada's peaceful dreamscape had turned into a nightmare. He found himself tied up and helpless, watching as his papa walked slowly away, not giving a second glance to his son. He screamed and screamed but nothing came out, and he was forced to watch as his father disappeared into the distance and the world around him faded to black.

But then something strange happened. He felt a presence around his shoulders; a weight. It could have been uncomfortable, but instead it made him feel safe; protected. One by one the ropes began to loosen and fall off, and he was able to relax.

Until he jolted awake, and found himself in America's arms.

He stiffened in surprise, and he felt the boy do the same. He briefly wondered if he should duck away, retreat to his side of the bed, maybe set up a nice, sturdy pillow wall to prevent further incidents. But in the end they just… let it happen.

And after that, the intimidating presence of the rambunctious blonde was no longer a problem. It was still there; he was still loud and undeniable, the kind of person who filled up every room he walked into. But instead of suffocating under it, instead of feeling trapped or cornered, Canada began to view it like a blanket. The warm, heavy kind you like to snuggle up in during the cold months. It made him feel safe.

Now, instead of feeling scared of America, Canada found himself with a whole new problem; he couldn't help but feel guilty. Guilty that he couldn't talk to his new brother in his own language, guilty that he couldn't try to solve America's problems the way he did his best to solve Canada's. Not that he had any problems that Canada could see, but he'd know that if he could ask, wouldn't he?

For the most part, Canada was already good at being silent. The problems started when America tried to engage him. Tried to include him. Tried to learn about him. And when America looked at him with those bright, hopeful eyes and said something that might as well have been Greek to the young colony, it pained Canada to have to reply the same way every time. A sorrowful shake of the head, and the first English words he'd ever learned; _"I'm sorry." _

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><p>Canada and America sat across from one another on the drawing room floor. America was leaning forward on his arms, and Canada had his face buried in soft, white fur. They were waiting for England to finish making lunch. His food was horrible, but America seemed to enjoy it, and even if he'd had the English to express his distaste Canada wouldn't have wanted to rock the boat anyway. But either way, here they were, simply sitting in each other's presence, with the only sound the sizzling of pans from the kitchen.<p>

Suddenly, the silence was broken. Canada looked up, and realized in dismay that he couldn't understand anything his brother was telling him. He shook his head, said "I'm sorry." in his thick French accent, and left it at that.

But it seemed America had other plans. He kept jabbering on, almost like he was throwing words at the Canadian to see if any might stick. Canada sighed, and resigned himself to watching his brother talk and nodding occasionally. If nothing else, the American might enjoy it if he thought he was listening.

Soon enough, though, Canada realized that America wasn't _just _jabbering on in gibberish. He was repeating two words over and over again. Just two, simple words, and pointing to the bear in his arms. Canada brought himself out of his passive state, and trained his ears on what America was saying.

"Bear, name? _Bear, name?"_

Bear, name… well, from the way he was pointing at Nanuq, he could more or less figure out what bear meant. And "name" sounded suspiciously like "nom"…

"Nanuq." Canada replied.

America stopped mid-gesture and stared at him for a second. Then a smile began to spread across his face. "... name ….. Nanuq?" He said. Or, at least, that's what he said that Canada was able to understand. The northern colony nodded, and all at once America's smile grew to blinding proportions. He stood up in a flash, grabbing Canada by the hand and saying something else in English as he pulled him up from the floor.

Canada followed, dazed, as he was dragged over to the desk at the side of the room. He watched as America pointed to the thing, and said… "Desk."

Canada blinked. "…Desk?" He said, pointing in the same direction America was.

America nodded, still grinning. "Desk!" He said. "Wooden desk!"

"Woodendesk?"

America slapped his palm to his forehead. "No, no… um…" He pointed at the ground. "Floow." Canada nodded. "Wooden floow." He pointed back at the desk. "Wooden desk."

And suddenly, a lightbulb went off in Canada's head. Or, it would have, if lightbulbs had been invented by then. Either way, he pointed to a chair in the corner, and said, "Wooden…?"

"Chaiw!" America said.

"Wooden… chaiw?"

"Yes!"

After that, it was like the start of an avalanche; everything moved quickly and easily and all at once.

"Ball?"

"Yes, ball! And… blanket!"

"Blanket?"

"Soft blanket!"

All too soon, England called them both to the dining table, and America ran to seat himself, taking Canada with him. But the learning experience didn't stop there.

"Chaiw!" Canada exclaimed as he seated himself. "Table! Ceiling! Floow!" He pointed at everything he could name, grinning as he did so.

He heard a string of astonished English from beside him, and looked to his right to see England, smiling at him and saying what could only be something good as he set down a plate in front of him.

Canada looked down at his plate, and the utensils beside it, and the mostly-edible food on top of it, and felt suddenly curious. He looked up at America and pointed at the plate, and luckily the southern colony seemed to get the gist.

One by one, they went through the items on the table, and England watched with ever-increasing pride.

"Plate." Canada said, pointing to the flatware. "Corn… po… potatoes." He said, pointing to the food on the plate. "Fowk." He said, pointing to the fork.

As soon as he said fork, though, Canada saw England snap to face him out of the corner of his eye. He gulped as he turned toward the Briton. Had he done something wrong?

England began to say something in… well, in English. "Matthew …. 'chair'."

Canada blinked. "…Chaiw?" He was pretty sure he was saying it right...

"No, no; chai_r." _England said again, emphasizing the R at the end.

"Chaiw."

With that, England groaned, and shot a glare at America. America started saying something in English. England said something back. America said something louder. England said something louder still. And Canada was beginning to get scared, when finally America laughed, and England sighed, and they all started eating as if nothing had happened.

Canada smiled to himself as he ate his food, all of which he could now name. He could get used to life around here.

America was fun and enthusiastic, and England, whether or not he could cook, seemed to really care for him. He played with him and made him meals, and really helped him feel like part of the family. It made him feel better about leaving his papa behind.

Two days later, England left.

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><p><strong>*I actually looked up words in French that sound similar in English, and apparently the word "timid" is more or less recognizable in both languages. It also seemed like something Canada might overhear a lot. XD<strong>


	5. Chapter 4

America could tell England had left from the moment he woke up. Mainly because when he woke up, it wasn't to the rising sun, but to the strong light of midday. He rubbed his eyes, threw off his covers and plodded over to Canada's bed. At least England had managed to get the new bed in before he disappeared again.

"Mattie." America said, shaking Canada's shoulders. Nothing happened. "Mattie!" He said louder.

"Whu? Huh?" Canada finally awoke, a confused look in his eyes. "Oh, Alfwed. Good… good mowning." He said in his thick French accent. Being a nation, he was bound to pick up languages easily once he got started, but there was no doubting he had a ways to go.

"Whewe… whewe is Awtuw?" Not to mention that troublesome little lisp he'd picked up from America…

"Gone." America said, tugging the covers off of his brother and beckoning him down onto the floor.

"Gone? Whewe?" Canada said, stepping off the bed.

"Fighting, pwob'ly."

"But… but… what us do?" Canada asked as he followed America out of the bedroom, Nanuq trotting behind him.

America frowned. "You mean what do we do?"

"Yes! Yes, what do we do?"

"Same thing we do evewy day. Only without Awtuw."

America ran down the stairs, Canada struggling to keep up as he zipped through the house and into the kitchen.

"This… this happen much?" Canada asked as America began rooting around in the cupboards for something edible.

"Yeah. You get used to it."

The first time England had left for more than a few hours, America had cried like a baby. The third or fourth time he'd managed on his own, getting his own food but still glancing out the window every five minutes or so, hoping that the next time he looked he'd see England coming down the road. By now – this being around the twentieth time this had happened – he was steeled toward the thought of living alone. He knew how to feed himself, to a degree. And he could certainly defend himself. And what was a little loneliness to him, right?

America came out of the cupboard juggling apples, bread and cheese. Everything he could find that didn't require cooking. He dumped it all on the table, and then went back to get a knife. "Sit down." He told Canada, who obeyed. America joined him at the table soon, slicing up the cheese and putting it between slices of bread for the both of them. He handed Canada an apple and took one for himself, and they started on their little improvised breakfast.

"When…" Canada started. He frowned, looking for the right words. "Awtuw come back soon?"

"No." America answered, taking a bite of his sandwich. He knew better than to assume that England would only be gone for 'a couple of minutes'. Or a few hours. Or even less than a few days. Thinking that that must have settled it, America continued to work away at his breakfast until he heard a soft sniffling sound from beside him. He turned to see Canada, his face scrunched up and tears rolling down his cheeks.

"P-papa is gone… Awtuw is gone…" Canada muttered, hugging himself tighter with each passing moment.

America abandoned his sandwich.

"Hey!" He said, leaping off his chair and running over to put his arms around the colony. "It's okay! He's coming back, I pwomise!"

"B-but you said-"

"I just said he isn't coming back _soon! _But he always comes back eventually!"

Canada sniffled. "…Y-yes?" He said, for lack of a better word.

"Really."

Canada nodded, taking a deep breath before attempting to tackle his own breakfast. Lately he'd been trying to keep up with America's chatter at meals; interjecting as often as he could with phrases in English he thought would work, or that he needed to practice. But today he felt he just didn't have the energy.

When breakfast was done, America threw out the apple cores, swept the crumbs onto the floor – England would probably yell at him for it later, but who cared – and promptly poked Canada in the side.

"Eh!?" Canada squeaked, looking at America with a confused frown. "What?"

"Tag!" America exclaimed, putting a smile on his face.

"…What?"

"Tag! It's a game! You know, like… I tag you, you twy to chase me?"

Canada blinked for a second. And then slipped off of his chair and poked America in the arm. "Tag!" He said.

Apparently some games are universal.

The children ran around the house for some time, laughing and tagging each other back and forth.

"You'll nevew catch me!" America yelled, glancing behind himself at the pursuing Canada as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

"A-Alfwed! The-" Canada's sentence was cut off when America slammed headfirst into the wall. "Alfwed!" Canada ran over to his brother, kneeling beside him on the floor. "Alfwed! A-awe you good?"

America simply smiled through his bloody nose. "M'okay!" He said, picking himself up and dusting himself off. "Hide and seek next?"

He spent the next few minutes trying to translate 'hide and seek'.

* * *

><p>That night, America held the candle that illuminated their way up to the bedroom, and they each climbed into their own separate beds before the light was put out.<p>

Canada had only been living here for a few weeks, but already it felt strange to go to bed without saying goodnight to England. Without being sent away to dreamland with a kiss on the forehead, or a story if the Brit felt like giving into America's begging that night. It felt like bedtime hadn't properly begun. Now he spent a long time just staring up at the ceiling, listening to his brother snore and feeling Nanuq's chest rise and fall underneath his hand.

He wasn't sure if it was ten minutes or an hour after they'd climbed into bed, but at some point the silence was broken.

At first it was just little noises; grunts and whines coming from America's bed as he fidgeted in his sleep. But soon those little noises grew to loud cries, and finally screams as the colony began to thrash and yell in his sleep.

"NO!" He screeched, his eyes screwed tight and his fists lashing out at everything around him. "G-GO AWAY! DON'T HUWT ME, DON'T HUWT ME!"

Canada watched, terrified, as tears began to run down his brother's cheeks, and the screams were mixed with anguished sobs. He pushed himself back until he was sitting against the wall, his blanket pulled up to his chin, like a barricade against his brother's outburst. He would wait it out. He would just wait until his brother calmed down. He wasn't getting in the middle of that, no way; he didn't want to get hit in the face, intentional or not.

But… America would help if it was him, wouldn't he? He had, in fact; though there hadn't been the added danger of being punched in the face. But even so…

His mind made up, Canada leapt out from under the covers and rushed over to America, crawling up beside him and dodging his swinging fists so he could get his arms around his brother. He held him close, whispering the things his Papa used to whisper to him in the middle of the night, when he woke with a nightmare or couldn't get to sleep in the first place.

All of a sudden, the screaming stopped. America stopped thrashing, his body going still. Had he woken up?

Canada's suspicion was confirmed when America threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly and sobbing into his shoulder.

"Shhh, shhh…" Canada soothed, stroking the American's back. "You are okay… you are okay."

Slowly but surely, America's sobs died down until he was able to breathe normally. He never let go of Canada, though; he kept his arms around his brother until he was able to drift back into his dreamland, one that wasn't populated with monsters this time, but with bunnies and whales and Canada, like it should be.

And Canada… Canada was finally able to get to sleep.


	6. Chapter 5

It had been four days since England left. America and Canada were doing well enough on their own; a diet of raw and/or dried food wasn't entirely intolerable, and America would admit it was easier tackling the days without England when he wasn't totally alone. So really, the biggest problem was taking care of their boredom. For the first few days, pastimes like hide-and-seek and playing with America's wooden soldiers had been what was on the menu. But even such classics as those get boring after a while. So on the fourth day, they did the unthinkable; they headed outside.

The house – which belonged to England but was really better referred to as "America's house" – was, luckily, right next to a little colonial town. It wasn't exactly London, but it made America proud all the same to know it was part of him. It had occurred to him recently that he'd never given Canada a proper tour and, well… that just wouldn't do, would it? So they put on their shoes, told Nanuq they'd be back soon – it wouldn't do to bring a polar bear out into the middle of colonial America and hope no-one freaked out – and headed out on the town.

The town was a very out-of-the-way place, with sparse buildings painted brown and red, shaded by huge old trees. America could count at least two that were almost as old as he was.

"An' hewe's the Johnson's house, an' hewe's the Smith's house, an' thewe's the mill…" America lead Canada through the town, pointing out everything of interest he could name. Canada followed willingly, his hand in the American's, gazing around with genuine interest at everything he was shown. After all, he was seeing a part of his brother, and that meant something.

"oh, thewe's the schoolhouse!" America said, beaming at the little wood building. It was a tiny little thing, smaller even than some of the houses in the town, but to America it seemed huge and important. He'd never been inside before, himself. England always told him he'd have to wait until he looked older before he started going to school. After which America would ask when that would happen, and England would start talking about economies and militaries and other things that bored the American. So, long story short, America had always just figured it would happen when it happened.

"S… school?" Canada said, frowning. "What is school?"

"Oh, you don't know that one yet, huh?" America said. "It's a place whewe you go to leawn!"

"Leawn?"

"Yeah! Like, weading and witing and stuff!"

Canada began to smile. "I could leawn English thewe?"

America opened his mouth to say 'yeah, great idea', but stopped himself, remembering what England had said. "Um, no, I don't think so."

The smile left Canada's face in favor of a confused frown. "No?"

"Nah. Besides, you'we alweady pwetty good anyways!" This got a smile out the Canadian, which America figured was the best result he could have hoped for.

The smile, however, quickly turned to panic, and America barely had time to react as he was jerked to the side by Canada, just in time to avoid being crashed into by a speeding child. _"_Outta the way!" The boy shouted, rolling his hoop past the brothers without so much as an apology. He was promptly followed by two other boys, also rolling hoops, who seemed determined to outrun the first.

Canada, who was still holding America's hand, looked at his brother, silently asking what they would do next. But instead of an answer, all Canada got was an empty hand, as America bolted off after the boys. Canada stood stock-still for a moment, then ran off after him.

"Wait! Hey, wait up!" America shouted after the boys, running as fast as his little legs could carry him. "Wait- oof!" America stumbled backward, having slammed into the back of one of the boys, causing him to drop his hoop.

"Hey!" The boy said, scowling as he bent to pick up his hoop. "What's your problem!?"

"Can I play with you?" America asked.

The boy lifted an eyebrow. "Seriously? You're way too little. Try again in five years." With that, the boy ran back away, laughing with his friends at the little boy who'd had the nerve to try and play with them.

"A-Alfwed!" Canada said, running up to stand beside his brother. "Alfwed, awe you okay?" There was no response. Canada tilted his head in worry. "Alfwed?"

Finally, America spoke up. "I'm oldew than they awe. Stupid meanies." He grumbled, kicking at a clod of dirt.

Canada stood beside his brother for a moment, wondering what to do. Finally, he had an idea; he reached his arm out, tapped his brother on the shoulder, and said; "Tag."

America looked at him in surprise for a second. Then a grin spread across his face, and he lunged for his brother, who giggled as he ducked out of the way. They chased each other down the road, around the schoolhouse and back and forth over the bridge next to the sawmill before they finally got tired, and plopped themselves down beside the general store, leaning against the wall, smiling and panting. A sign of a day well-spent.

"That was weally fun!" Canada said, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"Mm hm!" America agreed. "But it'd be even mowe fun if we could get some of those hoops…" Canada sighed, and America just grinned. "What? I'm just saying!"

For a while, they were content to just sit there, watching the leaves rustle and listening to the birds chirp. But the United States of America never stays still for long.

"Hey, Mattie." America said, looking over at his brother.

"Yes?"

"D'ya wanna see something?"

Canada smiled. "Okay." He said. "What is it?"

"You'll see." America said, getting up off the ground and waiting for Canada to do the same before he started walking. He lead him through the town, past the schoolhouse and the sawmill, and when they finally stopped, it was in front of an old house. The house was small and painted red, and tucked into a little cove of forest; as if it had been placed ever-so-carefully in a nest of bush and greenery.

"Alfwed, whewe awe we?" Canada asked as he followed America up to the side of the house.

America offered no answer, and instead proceeded to hunt around for… something. He finally found what he was looking for in an old wooden stool that had been pushed under the bushes, and he picked it up and placed it underneath one of the windows on the side of the house before climbing on top of it. "Come on." He said, beckoning to Canada.

After a moment of hesitation in which he wondered just what the heck his brother was up to, Canada joined him on the stool, the tight fit making it a bit of a balancing act.

"Look inside." America instructed.

Canada did. Inside he could see a big, fluffy bed, with an old women lying underneath the covers. She was sleeping peacefully, her gray hair draped over the pillow in wisps. The bedside table next to her held utensils, and a plate with remnants of food, which meant she must have had a meal in here. Canada found himself wondering how many meals she had in this room; wondering if she left this room at all.

"Hew name is Susanna." America said, his fingers pressed up against the glass as he watched the woman within. "I knew hew when she was little. We used to play all the time… she was my bestest fwiend. But… but she stawted gwowing up, and I stayed little, so… daddy said I couldn't play with hew anymowe." He sighed, and turned to Canada. "Those meanies back in town? Those wewe hew gwandsons."

Canada nodded solemnly; he understood the feeling. It was something all nations went through. Just another price of being different.

It was at that moment that they heard it; a soft whining noise, punctuated with hiccups and sniffles. Both of them hurried off of the stool and hid behind a bush, peeking through the branches to look. Through the shrubbery, they saw a woman walking down the road toward the house. In her arms, she was cradling one of the boys from earlier; his knee was scraped and bloody, and he was burying his face in her shoulder as she took him home.

The two watched them for a moment, as the mother whispered gentle reassurances to her son and told him not to go running through thickets again. And when she had disappeared into the house, it was America who first broke the silence.

"Do you evew wish you had a mommy?"

"…A what?"

"You know, a mommy; a lady who takes cawe of you."

"You mean a maman?"

"Yeah, whatevew"

Canada was silent for a second, staring into space as he pondered the question. "…Not weally. I nevew needed one; I had my papa."

"And now you have Awtuw?" Canada looked at America, then at the ground… but didn't answer. There was another moment of silence as both brothers tried to figure out what to say next. "Mattie?" America finally said.

"Yes?"

"What was youw papa like?"

That got a reaction. Canada looked at him for a moment, shocked at the question. For a second America was scared he'd said something wrong. But soon the shock disappeared, and Canada settled into thought. What _was _his papa like? What could he say about him to make America understand? How could he ever convey to America the softness of his hands, the radiance of his smile, or the safety he found in his arms? His papa had been more than just a country. He had been warm hugs, kind words, and embarrassing jokes that made you laugh anyway. He was fresh crepes made for breakfast when you least expected it, a hand to tickle away the tears when you most needed it. All of the things he was… Canada didn't think he had the words for them yet, not in French or in English.

Canada sighed, looking back out over the road. "He was… he was weally cuddly."

America smiled. "The best dads awe, wight?"

"Yeah." Canada said. He then drew up his legs into a pretzel, scooching around so he was facing the American. "Alfwed?" He asked.

"Yeah?"

"Tell me what Awtuw is like."

America raised one eyebrow. "Whaddya mean? You know him, silly!"

"Yes, I do. But only fow a wittle time. You know him bettew, so tell me; what kind of papa is he?"

"Um… okay…" America cast his eyes up to the sky in thought. "He's pwetty nice, I guess…" he started. "I mean, he doesn't let me wun supew fast, or climb twees, but I think he's just wowwied about me. And…" a far-off look came to his eyes. "I mean, it'd be nice if…"

Canada frowned. "If what?"

All of a sudden, America seemed to come back to himself, looking at Canada once more and putting a smile on his face. "Ah, nothin'." He said. "Hey, d'ya think we should head home?"

"Um-"

"I think we should. Come on!" With that, America stood, grabbing Canada's hand and taking him with him. At first America was rushing, almost running on the road through the town and back out to the field. But soon enough they settled into a comfortable walk, neither brother ahead or behind.

"You know…" America said as they walked.

"Yes?"

"I used to have a mommy."

Canada's eyes widened. "Weally?" He asked.

America laughed. "Yeah, weally." He sighed and stared off into space, his grin fading into a dreamy smile. "I was weally little, so I don't wemembew much, but… she was weally nice. And soft, and wawm, and- and she told the best stowies."

There was a moment of silence, in which both nations were content to just think on that last sentiment as they plodded along the dirt road. It was Canada who finally broke the spell. "Can you teww me one?"

America looked at him. "I don't weally wemembew any…" He said.

"Not any?"

America put his finger on his chin and scrunched up his face in thought, digging deep into his memory. All of a sudden, he smiled, having found just what he was looking for. "Okay, how 'bout this one. Once thewe was a wabbit…"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Just a little disclaimer here... I'm not an expert in American history! So not only will this story probably not fall within any definitive time-frame, things might not be accurate even with in the time periods I occasionally land in. My advice to you is... suspension of disbelief. It's a wonderful power. XD<strong>


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